


A Little Bit of Something (God, It's Better Than Nothing)

by grumpybell



Series: Can't Help But Be Scared of It All Sometimes [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Roommates, Sharing a Bed, and a million tropes stuffed into one thing that was supposed to be drabble and got out of control, honestly just like tooth rotting fluff, really more like Reluctant Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-17 20:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12373323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpybell/pseuds/grumpybell
Summary: “-Clarke.” He sounds alarmed, suddenly, none of the casual, arrogant, amusement that had been in his voice moments before.“What?”“Why is your mom calling me?”“Shit. Don't answer that. Listen, okay. She and I kind of got into an argument today-”“-what else is new?”“Shut up. Anyway, she told me she's getting married and there was just so much subtext about my failure at relationships and my lack of love life, and I might have told her I'm engaged too.”There's silence on the other end of the phone.“To you,” Clarke prompts.ORClarke is a competitive and stubborn human who lies to her mother about being engaged to Bellamy and ropes him into the charade.





	A Little Bit of Something (God, It's Better Than Nothing)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so honestly this was something I had as a half written draft on my computer for like a year and I just felt like playing with something fluffy, so here we are. It's ridiculous. I am 100% aware it's ridiculous. It's like a million unoriginal tropes all stuffed into one, but hey, it's fluffy. I almost didn't even post this because it's basically 98% fluff and 2% substance, but here we are. I hope some of you have fun reading this. (I didn't bother to have anyone beta this, so there may be some mistakes)  
> This is a completely unnecessary addition, but if anyone's curious, the title of this fic is a line from 3 AM by Matchbox Twenty, which I listened to when I was writing the beginning of this, and has (imo) a really fun tone while still not being 1000% happy. I'm a 90s kid, so I had to go there. 
> 
> If you want to read a more high quality & deeper fanfiction of mine, may I direct you to my fic
> 
> [This is a Song About Somebody Else](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11020842/chapters/24559938)
> 
>  
> 
> [come hang out with me on tumblr!](http://grumpybell.tumblr.com/)

**A Little Bit of Something (God, It's Better Than Nothing)**  

Clarke's used to screening her calls from her mother on a fairly frequent basis, but when Abby calls her six times in the course of two days, she realizes it's probably time to bite the bullet and answer the phone. Things aren't as bad as they sometimes are. She and Abby are on speaking terms, tentatively, anyway. But Clarke's classes have demanded insane hours and she's tired and her mother seems to always have some part of Clarke's life to pick at and she hasn't been in the mood. But six calls probably warrants an answer. The next time her phone rings, she grits her teeth and answers.

“Mom?”

“Clarke! I was starting to think something had happened to you.” The tone of Abby's voice tells her that her mother knows very well that Clarke had been ignoring her. It's not that Clarke doesn't love her mother, or that she thinks her mother doesn't love her, it's just that Clarke hasn't followed any of the carefully laid out plans Abby had in mind for her, and she thinks her mother feels rejected by it.

“I just have a lot of schoolwork. Is something wrong?” Abby usually calls for one of two reasons. The first is to give Clarke bad news. The second is to let her know that her presence is required at some sort of function, usually for one the charities Abby sponsors.

“Rather the opposite, actually. I'm calling to let you know that Marcus and I are engaged.”

“Marcus,” Clarke repeats slowly, trying to place him. Who the hell is... “ _KANE_?” Clarke asks loudly. “You're marrying Mr. _Kane_?” Marcus Kane is the lawyer that handles all the legalities in the nonprofit aspect of Abby's charities.

“Yes, Clarke.” her mother's patient voice is highly irritating.

“Since when are you dating Kane?”

“Since last Christmas. I had assumed you'd caught on.” Clarke hears the unspoken words in the tone of her mother's voice- _I guess you never have had the best radar for romance._ When Clarke's parents had gotten divorced when she was seventeen, she'd assumed it was her mother's fault. She'd been staunchly on her father's side; that is, until she'd found out the reason for the divorce was her father's infidelity. Two years later, Clarke had gone on to date Finn for three months, not realizing he'd been in a serious long term relationship the entire time. The only good thing to come out of that was Finn's other girlfriend, Raven, and the unlikely friendship she and Clarke had formed.

“I'm emailing you the details for our announcement dinner, it's in a few weeks after benefit season is over and I want you to be there _with_ a plus one. If you need to me to arrange someone, let me know. Callie's daughter will be home visiting from law school.”

Clarke hears the unspoken words in this bit too. _It's been, what, a year since your last relationship?_ If it were anyone but her mother, she would have kept a cool head. Clarke's not usually so recklessly impulsive, but the dating thing strikes a nerve. If it weren't Abby Griffin, the ridiculous words that come out her mouth in the next moment never, ever would have happened.

“ _Actually_ , I'm engaged as well.” A lie. A flat out lie and not a very well thought out one either. She isn't anywhere _close_ to engaged. Not even a little bit. Clarke might as well start adopting cats and get on the single cat lady thing early, that's how far from the truth it is.

“Really?” Abby sounds (understandably) skeptical.

“Yes.”

“Congratulations, then.” The words sound forced, a nicety more than anything. “I didn't know you were seeing anyone.”

“Well, I am... Have been.”

“What's their name? Someone I know?” Clarke's already greatly regretting the lie. She knows what's coming next, Abby will insist on meeting them. Never mind that Abby and Clarke basically only see each other at holidays and the occasional benefit that Abby forces Clarke into, the next thing she knows, her mother will show up, demanding Clarke produce her very not real fiancé.

“Bellamy,” Clarke blurts out. She has no idea why she says his name. She should have picked someone who might actually be the slightest bit willing to help her out. She should have picked Raven. Hell, Octavia would have played along better than her brother, even though she'd never be able to keep a straight face. She has a feeling she mostly threw out his name because her mother knows Bellamy and she's not particularly fond of him. Clarke can't even entirely fault her for it. Bellamy doesn't always make the best first impression. She certainly hadn't liked him at first, but she hadn't known him then, and her mother doesn't know him now, so Clarke takes some level of pleasure that he'll be a name her mom is far from happy to hear.

“Bellamy Blake,” Abby says slowly, her voice low, edging on disgruntled.

“Yes.”

“Well, then, I think we should all have lunch.” The light tone Abby uses in no way convinces Clarke that her mother is even a little bit okay with the idea of Clarke being engaged to Bellamy. She also suspects her mother doesn't really believe it. And Clarke, being the stubborn idiot that she is, can't back down from the challenge.

“That sounds great. I really have to go now, Mom. Talk to you later.” She doesn't wait for an answer. She'll just dig herself into a deeper hole. How had she let this happen?

The instant Clarke hangs up, she's dialing Bellamy's number. This is going to be the most embarrassing conversation ever. He picks up on the third ring, his voice gruff and deep and she's pretty sure she's woken him up, which will likely make this a thousand times worse.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I kind of need a favor.” She and Bellamy are friends. Mostly. She met Octavia when she transferred colleges after giving up her pre-med track in favor of a liberal arts college with a good drawing minor and had to take some additional classes. Octavia had been a freshman, bubbly, and befriended Clarke practically without any input on Clarke's part. And, well, Bellamy's kind of an extension of Octavia.

They've known each other for three years. They dominate when they're paired as a team on game night. But they also argue more than anyone else in their friend group and she'd once spent two weeks not talking to him over and incident with spaghetti sauce and he'd ignored her for three whole days when she'd admitting to liking a historically inaccurate book series. And she's about to ask him to pretend to be her fiancé.

“Yeah, Princess?” He's smirking. She just fucking knows he's smirking.

“Okay, so here's the thing-”

“-Clarke.” He sounds alarmed, suddenly, none of the casual, arrogant, amusement that had been in his voice moments before.

“What?”

“Why is your mom calling me?”

“ _Shit._ Don't answer that. Listen, okay. She and I kind of got into an argument today-”

“-what else is new?”  
“Shut up. Anyway, she told me she's getting married and there was just so much subtext about my failure at relationships and my lack of love life, and I might have told her I'm engaged too.”

There's silence on the other end of the phone.

“To you,” Clarke prompts. There's several more seconds of silence.

“What, exactly, is it that you want from me?” He doesn't sound furious, so at least there's that. He doesn't sound exactly thrilled, either. Actually, Clarke can't tell at all how he's feeling by his tone.

“She wants us all to have lunch. And for me to bring a date to her engagement announcement party.”

“Why? Your mom fucking hates me, I assume that's why I was chosen.”

“She doesn't _hate_ you, you just made a bad first impression on each other. I don't think she bought that we're actually a couple.”

“Imagine that,” Bellamy grumbles, but that's to be expected. All in all, he's taking it rather well. There hasn't been any yelling yet. Clarke decides to be optimistic and give him a little nudge.

“So...” she prompts, and hears him sigh on the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, okay, I'll be your fake fiancé. But you owe me big time. Like colossally.”

“You're my favorite. I knew there was a reason why you're my favorite.”

Bellamy snorts. “Yeah, yeah. Now leave me alone so I can go back to sleep.”

“Um.”

“Yes?” His tone is exasperated.

“You should probably answer when my mom calls you again.”

“Fucking hell, Clarke. You're so lucky you have me.” And then he hangs up, leaving her a little stunned at how easy that all was. Usually with Bellamy it takes some convincing. He doesn't just _go along_ with her plans; he never has.

She starts to worry, almost immediately, that he'd just been too asleep to understand what he was agreeing to. Bellamy, being a TA on top of all his grad work is always a little scattered near the end of the semester and he definitely doesn't get enough sleep. With this in mind, she decides to drop by his place after class.

Bellamy has a bad habit of leaving his apartment door unlocked, so Clarke doesn't bother to knock and just strides right in. The first thing she notices is that it smells fabulous, which means he's cooking. Bellamy doesn't cook anything beyond the basics often during the semester, too busy to do so, but when he does, it's stress cooking, and the results are _incredible._ She immediately alters her dinner plans to include whatever mouthwatering dish he's producing tonight. Bellamy always cooks like he's feeding an army anyway. He'll grumble about it, but he likes to have his cooking appreciated.

She finds him stirring a sauce that smells like heaven. She slips up beside him and darts her index finger in to get a taste before he has a chance to stop her. He swats her hand away when she tries to go back for seconds.

“Could use some salt,” Clarke says, just to spite him. This is how she and Bellamy relate to each other, with snark and barbs they don't really mean. They didn't start off on the right foot, and now... Well, now she knows he's a lot more than she'd ever thought, but it's still hard in her day to day life, trying to be soft with him. She hasn't figured out how to relate to him that way.

“Like you know anything about cooking,” Bellamy responds, not looking at her. “What are you even doing here?”

“If you don't want visitors, you should lock your door.”

He turns and crosses his arms, eyebrows raised. Clarke ignores the look.

“Are you making garlic bread?”

“Do you _smell_ garlic bread?”

Clarke pouts.

“You're not even invited!”

She gives him her sad eyes.

Bellamy huffs and turns back to the sauce, grumbling. She thinks he says, _this isn't a soup kitchen_ , but she knows she's won. For all his sass and bravado, Bellamy is a total softie at heart. It's a secret he guards closely (or at least thinks he does), but Clarke's known him long enough to sniff it out.

“You're the best!” Clarke tells him, hopping up onto the counter and swinging her feet.

“You owe me like a thousand times over,” Bellamy says.

“About that...”

“Oh, God. What now?” Bellamy always knows when Clarke's angling to get something from him. Actually, Bellamy seems to have an extra sense for when Clarke's feeling _anything_. It's almost freakish.

“I was thinking we should probably practice.”

“Practice what?” he asks warily, eying her suspiciously.

“Being engaged, obviously.”

He stops stirring to stare at her.

“You know how perceptive and intense my mom is. She'll totally realize if we're out of sync. Plus, your place is closer to school anyway.”

“Please tell me you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting.”

“It'd just be a couple of weeks. I've stayed here before.”

“For a _night_. You are _not_ moving in.”  
“We should know what it's like to live with each other.”

“Is this about how you've been eating out of your freezer for the past two months?”

Clarke glares at him. “I _cook_.”

“Mac and Cheese doesn't count.”

“Oh, come on, Bellamy! You have girls stay here all the time,” she points out.

“First of all,” Bellamy points at her with the spoon, “That's a mutually beneficial scenario. Second of all, if _you're_ here, that means I _can't_ have other girls over. I really don't see why I would agree to this.”

Clarke narrows her eyes at him and decides to take another approach. A dangerous one. She's seen the way Bellamy's eyes linger on her sometimes and the she's seen the unapologetic way he looks at her when he's had too much to drink. She'd be lying if she said she doesn't find him incredibly attractive. It's just... He's Bellamy, and she feels like their relationship since they've met has been a careful balancing act, one that could be so easily disturbed and plunge them into... something. Maybe good. Maybe bad. She's doesn't want to take that risk. But still... They're both hot, and she doesn't see why maybe they can't do something about that.

“ _Well_ ,” Clarke slips off the counter and slides closer to him, her eyes on his lips. “there might be other things we should practice too.” She's so close they're only a breath apart. “But if you don't want to practice,” she steps away shrugging.

Bellamy swallows hard. “Funny,” he says sarcastically. “And for the record, that was an unfair tactic.”

“Did it work?”

“Were you serious?” His tone tells her he doesn't think so.

“Maybe.” She's honestly not sure. Her body says yes, but her mind isn't entirely convinced. _Too_ c _omplicated_ , it whispers.

“This is a hell of a lot of effort for one lunch and one party with your mom.”

“Is that agreement?”

“Fucking fine,” he practically growls. “You can stay here for a while. Try to be less annoying than you have been in the past twenty minutes.”

Clarke smiles broadly, then pecks him on the cheek and skips back to the counter. She thinks she sees him roll his eyes, but she could be wrong.

“So, about that garlic bread,” Clarke says.

Bellamy tosses a plastic measuring cup at her.

* * *

 

 

Moving in with Bellamy is surprisingly easy. He's clean and he's organized and he's a fantastic cook. So really, all Clarke needs is some clothes and toiletries and she's good to go. At least on her end. If he has any complaints about her (besides the fact that she'd wanted to stay with him in the first place) he doesn't voice them. She takes it upon herself to do the dishes and keep her things out of the way and try to do things like vacuum, which she's been putting off at her own apartment. But all in all, it's really not as big of a change as she thought it would be.

The one thing that causes a problem is the sleeping arrangement. Bellamy owns a one bedroom apartment. The couch pulls out, but Bellamy, being the protective big brother type, feels too guilty to let Clarke sleep there, so the first three nights he spends on the couch and the following day Clarke tries to ignore the way he grumbles about his back. She hadn't expected the bed, but after an hour long argument he'd planted himself firmly on the sofa and refused to move. Finally, she's had enough and she confronts him about it.

“This is ridiculous,” she says, crossing her arms and watching him begin to unfold the couch for the night.

“I agree. There's no way this is going to help us convince your mom we're engaged.”

Clarke narrows her eyes. “I was talking about you sleeping on the couch.”

“And your suggestion is?”

“Your bed is big enough for two.”

“No way.” Bellamy shake his head. “I am _not_ sharing a bed with you.”

“Why not?” Clarke demands. “You share your bed with girls all the time.”

“That's different.”

“We're supposed to convince my mom we're getting _married_. The whole point of me staying here is because we're supposed to be living together. You're sleeping on the couch and we should just be sharing a bed instead!”

“Nope. It's not happening.”

“Why the fuck _not_?”

Bellamy stares at her heatedly, annoyance scrawled across his face, then mumbles something she doesn't quite catch, the tips of his ears turning red.

“What was that?”

“I _cuddle_ people.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in and once they do, Clarke can't stop the huge grin that spreads across her face.

“You cuddle,” she repeats.

“That's what I said, Princess.”

“Do you mean to tell me, that all those one night stands you've had, you _cuddled_ with?” The glee in her voice is barely contained. It's difficult to picture.

“No.” Bellamy glares at her. “It only happens with people I'm close to.”

She's ready with a comeback, but this makes her pause. “And I count?” This does surprise her. Sure, she and Bellamy have been sort of friends for years, but she's never thought he might consider her someone he's _close_ to. He's not exactly the most open person and if she had to guess, she'd say that list is Octavia and Miller and that's about it.

His eyebrows pull together. “Of course you count. I'm pretending to be engaged to you because of your weird issues with your mother. It's not like I'd do that for just anyone.”

Clarke softens. Sometimes she forgets how sweet Bellamy can be. He's opinionated and forceful and not at all afraid to argue with her, and sometimes that overshadows his other traits. She holds out her hand.

“Come on, you can't keep sleeping on that couch, you're not getting any younger.”

“Clarke.”

“I mean it. A little cuddling never hurt anybody.”

 

She may not have fully thought this through, Clarke realizes, when she wakes up the next morning. Bellamy wasn't joking about the cuddling thing. She's slotted against his body, cradled in his arms, and his face is buried in the crook of her neck. Clarke thinks she probably shouldn't be enjoying this as much as she is, but hell, Bellamy is warm and beautiful and good, and it's nice. She lies in his arms for a few minutes before poking him in the shoulder.

“ _What_?” he grumbles, not budging.

“You're cuddling.”

“I warned you,” he mumbles his hold only tightening. “Fucking deal with it.” And then he just goes back to sleep. Clarke lies there, a little stunned, but then she relaxes back against him. If he's not going to be embarrassed about it, then she's not either. It's not like it's a big deal. It doesn't _mean_ anything.

She wakes up fully a couple of hours later, as Bellamy is trying to untangle their limbs, grumbling under his breath.

“Stop it,” Clarke mutters shoving at his calf with her foot, “I'm still sleeping.”

“I'm trying to go to work,” Bellamy gripes, cursing when he trips over her shoes next to the bed.

“Yeah, well, leave me out of it,” Clarke says, grumpy and sleepy. It's much too early for this.

“You know you have class in an hour too, right?”

“Nnoooo,” Clarke whines. Getting out of bed sounds like the worst thing ever. She buries her face in her arms. Clarke is not a morning person. Bellamy sighs so heavily she has no trouble hearing him.

“I'll come get you out of bed when the coffee's done,” he says, exasperated.

“You are my favorite person ever,” Clarke mumbles into her pillow. Bellamy is an angel. He is a beautiful, kind, lovely, warm angel.

She's having dreams about Bellamy with a halo when he comes back to wake her. The bed sinking next to her is what first begins to pull her from sleep, but she stubbornly keeps her eyes closed.

“I brought you coffee,” he says, resting a hand on her back. Clarke cracks an eye open, and he does, indeed, have a coffee cup in hand. She pushes into a sitting position and snags the coffee, squinting against the light.

“How on Earth have you managed to get yourself up in the morning on a regular basis?” Bellamy asks. She hates that he looks fine, his hair a little rumpled, but otherwise pulled together, already dressed, and his contacts in.

“I failed my last 8 am?” Clarke tells him, gulping the coffee as best she can without burning her mouth. Bellamy shakes his head, but the stern look on his face is ruined by the smile tugging at the edges of his lips.

“You're a fucking disaster,” he tells her, fond. Clarke flips him off and she can still hear him laughing even after she buries her face back into her pillow.

* * *

 

If Clarke's a disaster, then her day is a goddamn international crisis. She leaves part of her assignment for her Painting class in Bellamy's apartment and has to beg the professor to let her turn it in later in the afternoon in between her English and Art History courses, which not only means two extra trips on the bus, but that she has to skip lunch.

She gets rained on waiting for the bus and only barely makes it to Art History, drenched and shivering. Clarke's still damp by the end of the class and was too cold to even take proper notes. Her next bus is half an hour late, and it's already dark by the time she boards it, exhausted and irritable.

When she comes home from class, Bellamy's at the stove, making some sort of curry chicken. Clarke feels her mood lighten, even though she still feels tired to her bones. She drops her bag on the floor and presses herself up against his back, arms around his waist and her face buried between his shoulder blades. Bellamy hardly reacts.

“Bad day?” he asks.

“The worst.” Her hand bumps against his arm and he makes a sound just short of a yelp.

“Why are you so cold?!”

“Got rained on.”

“Jesus, Clarke, go take and shower and change clothes.” He pries her arms from around him and she goes reluctantly; he's so warm. But he's right, a shower and some clean clothes are exactly what she needs. And a night in.

She only remembers that a night in is the last thing she's going to get when she wanders out into the kitchen in pajama pants and an oversized shirt and Bellamy blinks at her, utterly confused.

“You're wearing that?”

“Should I not be?” Clarke asks equally confused.

“Not unless you want O to behead you for missing her party tonight.”

Clarke nearly groans. She'd forgotten. There's still three weeks to Octavia's birthday, but she'd elected to have her party early, due to the fact that she's spending Thanksgiving with her long distance boyfriend, Lincoln, and won't be in town.

“Fuck.”

Bellamy gives her an apologetic smile. “Eat dinner and you can change after,” he suggests, gesturing to chicken curry that's now on the table. “And once O has a couple drinks in her we'll get you an Uber home. She won't notice by then.”

It turns out Octavia's already at least one drink in by the time they even show up, slinging her arms around both of them and demanding to know why it took them so long to arrive. Clarke's just glad she's not asking why they're arriving together. She and Bellamy haven't exactly let any of their friends in on their current living situation, nor the scheme to fool Clarke's mother. Lying about a relationship doesn't really feel like something to be proud of. Not to mention, Jasper would probably have an aneurysm, as he's been trying to hook them up for years.

They're some of the last to arrive, and the rest of their friends have co-opted a booth near the back of the bar. Octavia drags them over, slightly unsteady on her heels. Closest to the bar, Raven is in what appears to be a scathing yet oddly friendly exchange with Murphy, who has an arm around Emori on his other side. Jasper's inhaling the chips and salsa on the table like his life depends upon it, while Monty and Harper chat amicably with Miller and Jackson, who are holding hands on top of the table. And next to Jackson is-

Bellamy groans. "What the fuck is she doing here?"

It's no secret that Bellamy can't stand Echo Norling. And since she'd sabotaged Octavia's grade in a class that resulted in her failing, Clarke didn't think his sister was all too fond of her either.

Octavia rolls her eyes as they approach the table. "She heard Harper inviting Niylah."

"And she thought that meant anyone would want HER here?"

But Octavia is already gone, plopping herself into Harper's lap and stealing Monty's drink. Bellamy's still grumbling under his breath by the time they catch up, Clarke bumping Raven with her hip, everyone shuffling a bit to make room.

"Next round on Bellamy!" shouts Jasper, finally noticing his arrival, and everyone cheers in approval.

Clarke's still exhausted, but after a couple of drinks she's feeling more relaxed and less like she needs to go home and crawl into her bed right this instant. If she gets sleepy she'll just nod off on someone's shoulder. Who needs a bed?

Of course, that's when the first girl approaches Bellamy to see if he wants to dance. It's not like he's _actually_ Clarke's fiancé. He can dance with whoever he wants to, she reasons with herself. But with the alcohol in her veins, she's feeling a bit put out by the whole thing. Not that it matters.

Bellamy shakes his head, "I don't dance."

The girl leaves looking disappointed and Clarke feels unfairly smug. _Not your actual fiancé, Clarke_ , she reminds herself. She goes back to drinking, getting caught up in a conversation with Raven; she almost doesn't even notice the occasional girl who stops by to try to flirt or dance with Bellamy, and he maintains his _'I don't dance'_ stance. Almost. It's just, drunk Clarke tends to get even more competitive than regular Clarke. And that's saying something. So she just wonders...

She turns to Bellamy on her left. “You wanna dance?”

He blinks at her, surprised. “ _Can_ you dance? You've had a lot to drink.”

“So have you!”

“Yeah, but I've got at least sixty pounds on you, Princess.”

Clarke bristles. “I can dance.”

“Fine,” Bellamy snaps back, getting up and holding out a hand.

“ _Fine_.”

There's a fast song playing, and they both dance a little harder than they probably normally would, trying to prove the other one is more drunk. Bellamy and Clarke are nothing if not competitive with each other. Clarke's more than a little dizzy, but she's not about to the one to give in, so when a slow song comes on, she breathes out a quiet sigh of relief and steps into Bellamy's space, hands on his shoulders, using him for balance. Bellamy's not exactly _tall_ for a guy, somewhere around 5'10” and claiming an extra two inches, but at 5'3” it's still a stretch for Clarke.

It's then that she realizes how close they are. His eyes are shiny from the alcohol and he's smiling that smile where he's trying _not_ to, the one where he usually ducks his head to hide it. She gets stuck on that smile, on his lips. She sees him follow her gaze, and something shifts, something discernible and intense.

One of Bellamy's hands comes up, grazes lightly across her cheek, before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and all the while she's looking at him, watching him. She's pretty sure he's about to kiss her. Somewhere, there is a voice inside her head screaming the word _complicated_ over and over, but her drunken mind filters it out. There's nothing wrong with kissing. Clarke likes kissing people, and what's complicated about that?

“Hey, Griffin!” Clarke jumps at the sound of her name, and the moment is gone, vanished with Raven's yell.

“You promised to kick Murphy's ass at darts with me!”

Clarke turns her head, and Bellamy's hand falls away. “On my way!” She calls back to Raven and shoots Bellamy and apologetic expression. He lets out a deep breath and takes a step back.

“Go on then,” he says, smiling a little and giving her a nudge in Raven's direction. “I always bet on Murphy to lose darts. Don't let me down, okay?”

She goes; like he said, there's money on the line when it comes to kicking Murphy's ass at darts, but it doesn't feel like she should be walking away.

Raven wins, but Clarke still beats Murphy, so basically no one loses any money, except Emori who always bets on Murphy even though he's useless at darts. Besides, Clarke's pretty sure the twenty Emori hands Jasper came from his own wallet. The girl is sneaky, that's for sure.

Clarke goes looking for Bellamy after the game, and spots him at the bar, beer in hand. It's not until she's nearly on top of him that she realizes who is standing next to him.

"-And none of that 'I don't dance bullshit' since you obviously DO,” Echo is saying. She's looking at him like she expects something other than anger back.

Bellamy's jaw is tight. "Fine, I dance. I don't dance with _you_ ," he says harshly.

Clarke slides between them before things can get worse, pressing up to Bellamy's side. He startles, but relaxes when he realizes who it is.

"Let's go home," she suggests, mildly aware that Echo is still standing there, watching them, definitely listening.

Bellamy still looks tense, but he nods. “Okay, I've got to tell O goodnight. Order an Uber while I'm gone?”

“Sure.” Anything to get him away from Echo. She's not sure if the conversation would have devolved into a full out argument, but it wouldn't have been the first time. Bellamy just can't _stand_ Echo, but the feelings clearly aren't returned, since she seems to seek him out, constantly testing the waters between them.

Clarke isn't sure exactly what Echo did to make Bellamy hate her so much, but she thinks part of it has something to do with Gina, Bellamy's ex.

“Are you two together?” Echo's question startles Clarke. They've never really spoken to each other much. Echo and Bellamy already knew (and had issues with) each other before Clarke became close with Octavia and, by extension, Bellamy.

“That's none of your business.” She should just say _no_ , because it's the truth. They're not together and the only person they need to convince that they are is Clarke's mother. But she thinks, fleetingly, of Bellamy's hand on her cheek, and she doesn't say no.

 

Clarke doesn't remember much about the rest of that night, but she thinks there isn't much to remember. She has flashes of leaning against Bellamy in their Uber, and laughing too loudly on the stairs, and finally, finally, falling into bed without taking her makeup or even her shoes off.

She'd woken up to a phone call from her mother. And under normal circumstances, it would be a call she'd ignore. But right now she finds herself curled in Bellamy's arms, his face gentle in sleep, and the only thing she can distinctly remember from the night before in that moment was that he'd nearly kissed her.

The phone call is an escape. She wriggles out of his arms, snatches her phone and retreats to the living room, answering it just in time.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh good, I thought you might still be sleeping,” her mother greets her. Clarke might generally say she was, but she's still exhausted and she's got a hangover and she keeps thinking about Bellamy's lips. So instead she doesn't say anything and waits for her mother to get to the point.

“I was hoping we could have breakfast this morning and then go shopping.”

“Shopping for what?”

“I have an appointment to look at some flowers for the wedding. I thought you might like to come along, since you have your own wedding to plan.”

She opens her mouth to decline, but then Bellamy appears in the doorway, shirtless, rumpled, and Clarke's heart jumps into her throat.

“Sure,” she accepts, before she has time to think too much about it, or about _Bellamy_.

“Great! I'll meet you at 9? The cafe?”

“Sounds good.” And Clarke figures at the very least she's going to get a free, very expensive, breakfast from her mother's favorite cafe. Maybe she can even order a mimosa to combat her hangover.

It's not until she's hung up that one very important detail crosses her mind.

“Shit!” she jumps up, dashing for Bellamy's room and her suitcase. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What's going on?” Bellamy asks, looking concerned.

“I'm supposed to meet my mom in an hour and I forgot I don't have a ring!”

“What?”

“An engagement ring! I was going to buy a cheap one and return it! I didn't think I'd have to see her until the lunch next week! I have to-” Clarke's hastily kicking off her shoes and digging in her suitcase for an Abby appropriate breakfast outfit. Maybe if she can get ready fast enough there'll be pawn shop open or-

“I have a ring,” Bellamy says, soft.

“What?” Clarke freezes. Bellamy has a ring? Why on Earth would Bellamy have a ring unless... He was going to propose to Gina? Clarke knows they'd been pretty serious, but not _that_ serious.

“It was my mom's,” he explains, running a hand through his hair. “O hates it, and it's not much. I mean, my dad didn't have much money when he got it for Mom and she never married O's dad, but I thought I'd save it anyway, for someday.” He's moved to his dresser while he's talking, digging a little blue velvet box out and holding it out to Clarke with a sheepish shrug.

She takes it slowly and opens the box, stunned. He's right about it not being anything fancy, just a simple band with a pearl in the middle and a small cluster of little diamonds on each side, but Clarke thinks it's lovely, understated and elegant.

“I can't-” she starts, but it's a bit of a desperate situation. “Are you sure it's okay if I wear this?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Maybe it's all part of master plan. If you lose it, just know I'll expect an upgrade.” She knows he's teasing. He'd be devastated if she lost one of the few things he has left of his mother. She takes the ring out of the box, her heart in her throat.

It's a little big, but maybe only a half size, and it's certainly not going to fall off her finger. When she looks up, Bellamy's expression is unreadable. She's not convinced this is okay, but she knows he'll insist. Once Bellamy's made up his mind, he'll hold his ground.

“Thank you.” It seems like such a small thing to say for a gesture that feels too big. Bellamy cracks a smile that doesn't quite touch his eyes.

“I'm gonna go make some coffee. You better hurry if you want to make it on time.”

 

Clarke's only three minutes late to meet her mother, which might actually be something of a record. Generally, unless it involves early mornings, Clarke is a punctual person. She doesn't like being late, but getting ready to see her mother always seems to take an extra twenty minutes she hasn't accounted for. It's not that Abby expects her to look like a 1950s housewife or anything, it's just that Clarke's usual rotation of ripped jeans and tanktops with paint splatters or oversized hoodies doesn't really go over well. And, well, particularly when she's trying to stay on Abby's good (and unsuspicious) side, she doesn't think it's worth an argument.

Her mother looks good, happier than Clarke is used to seeing her. She supposes that makes sense- her mother's in love. It's a weird thing to think. She'd always thought her parents were happy, but looking back, she realizes her mother had been unhappy for years before the divorce. This is something different. This is something _light_.

“Clarke.” Abby stands to hug her, and Clarke notes the engagement ring on her finger, huge, flashy, probably very expensive. Clarke prefers the one on her own finger.

“Hi, Mom.”

And, as far as breakfast goes, it could have been much worse. The waitress is attentive and Clarke gets her mimosa and Abby doesn't actually go straight for the throat with the whole Bellamy thing, so Clarke is actually able to enjoy the extremely expensive avocado toast on her plate.

Of course, it's too good to last, and by the time they're at the flower shop, browsing row after row of flowers and various example place settings, the conversation turns inevitably to Clarke's “engagement.”

Abby nods at Clarke's hand as she's reaching for a daffodil. “Your ring suits you,” she comments, and it's a nice thing to say, since it's clearly not to Abby's taste, but Clarke knows it's the beginning of a bigger conversation. One that she's dreading.

“It was Bellamy's mother's,” Clarke tells her.

Abby smiles, a practiced motion. “And what is Bellamy up to these days?” Clarke knows she's not imagining the strain in her mother's voice when she says his name. The worst part is, Clarke can't even entirely blame her. Clarke hadn't liked Bellamy when she first met him either, and Abby had met Bellamy on a bad day, when he had no time for small talk and when he didn't really give a shit if her mom liked him or not. It hadn't helped that Abby had been dressed head to toe designer and been in a mood herself.

“He's got a semester left of his Masters and he's already been accepted into the PHD program, and since he'll be teaching, he's actually getting paid to finish school.” Clarke feels the need to point out that Bellamy has, by pretty much all standards, done incredibly well for himself. And yeah, he's still pretty broke right now, but he's making it, and that's more than any of the idiots in his childhood ever expected of him.

Her mother is examining a vase of orchids, lips pursed. “And that's what he wants to do? Teach?”

If you'd asked her a week ago, she wouldn't have known the answer, but as it is, she finds the words spilling out easily. “And write. He wants to be a novelist, but he knows that's not steady work.”

“Hm.” In Abby speak that means she wants to find something to criticize, but can't find a “polite” way to do it. Clarke considers it a victory. As much as she's always looked for, and often failed to find, her mother's approval, for once she just _doesn't care_. It still rubs her the wrong way, that her mother is so determined not to like Bellamy, but her mother doesn't even _know_ Bellamy.

Clarke's standing in front of a display of Baby's Breath, and she reaches out to brush the delicate stems, mind drifting. She can't help but realize it's all too easy to play this part. She hasn't even had to think about it, to remind herself that she's supposed to be engaged to Bellamy, to know things about him, because well... she already knows the answers to her mother's questions and it's just instinct to answer them. And pretending to have feelings for Bellamy...

That, Clarke can no longer deny, doesn't actually take any pretending. She might have the smallest little crush on him. But how could she not? She's been living with him, behaving like a perfectly domestic couple, and he's so pretty and kind, and he'd danced with her when he wouldn't dance with anyone else, almost kissed her. Who _wouldn't_ have a crush on Bellamy Blake?

Shit. This was not supposed to happen.

“Clarke?” the tone of her mother's voice tells her this is not the first time she's said it.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said you should consider the Baby's Breath. It would look lovely in your hair.”

“Oh, thanks, yeah, I will.” But she's not about to picture _that_ , not when she's finally admitted to herself that her feelings for Bellamy are no longer strictly platonic.

“I'm thinking lilies for myself,” her mother continues, tugging Clarke toward a different display, and asking her opinion on various possible vases.

By the time she gets home, Clarke's even more exhausted and will be happy if she never sees another flower in her life. She sends up a silent thanks that she's not actually planning a wedding. If she ever gets married, maybe she'll just elope.

She finds Bellamy at the kitchen table, grading papers and cursing under his breath. Bellamy likes teaching, he really does, but he's quick to become personally offended by some of the less intelligent things he finds in his students papers.

“Good morning?” Clarke asks, sliding his mother's ring off her finger and holding it out to him.

He sighs and rubs at his temple. “Do you know how many students don't know that Augustus and Gaius Octavius are the _same person?_ ” He notices her outstretched hand with the ring and waves her away.

“Keep it for now,” he says, “You'll need it again for lunch and the party anyway.”

Clarke's not entirely comfortable with holding on to something that's so precious to Bellamy for so long, but he seems frazzled and irritable, so instead of arguing she slides the ring back onto her finger.

“You want to have an early lunch? We could grab something from the halal cart?” she suggests. Bellamy's neighborhood has one of the best corners for food carts in the city, and his mood is always lifted by a truly good meal.

“Yeah,” Bellamy stretches standing up. “How was flower shopping?” he asks, while grabbing his coat and ushering Clarke toward the front door.

“ _Long_. Do you have any idea how many types of lilies there are? Oh, and it can't just be these ones, because they'll be in season a month too late, and if she uses the _crystal_ vases then really the pink lilies would be better and oh my god I hate wedding planning.”

Bellamy laughs, and he looks so much less weighed down than he did a moment ago. “Well, didn't you pick something for _our_ wedding?” he teases.

Clarke elbows him in the side as they step out into the cold, but she can't help but think of the delicate sprigs of Baby's Breath.

* * *

 

It snows on Sunday, canceling classes for Monday and sending Bellamy into a tailspin of panic. It's the final week of classes, and everyone's finals are coming up, so even though there aren't any classes, Bellamy determinedly sets off at seven in the morning to head in to his office and begin to prepare. Clarke tries to talk him out of it to no avail.

It's probably a good thing, anyway, Clarke has a lot of work to do herself, and Bellamy is... distracting. Or rather, how she feels about him is distracting, the way his smiles make her heart turn over and she keeps zoning out thinking about his freckles and the curls in his hair, and goddamn it he's just too pretty.

Clarke's Painting final is due on Friday and she has no idea what she's going to paint. She likes to just start and see where it takes her, but she's a little worried, since her main critique all semester has been that her pieces are beautiful, but lacking in emotion. She can't even argue with that- since her dad left, Clarke knows she's shied away from pieces that are too personal.

It really shouldn't come as a surprise that she ends up painting Bellamy. Even when she's trying not to think about him, he's there. He's everywhere here, and Clarke, standing in his living room with her easel and canvas propped up and wearing one of his oversized sweaters like a smock, was silly to think otherwise. He might be in the office at the moment, but he's always going to be _here_.

She stashes the painting in his hall closet, facing the wall, behind the extra trash bags and coffee filters, not wanting him to see it. It's not that she thinks Bellamy will mind that she's painting him, but more that she's afraid he'll take one look at it and know how she feels. And Bellamy hasn't dated in over a year, not since Gina, and he hasn't shown any interest in doing so. It's not like he was jumping up and down to volunteer for this whole thing. For him, this is a favor.

Clarke repeatedly reminds herself of this over the next week, whenever she gets the urge to linger in his arms in the morning, or to kiss his cheek while he's cooking. Bellamy is a fantastic friend, and she's pretty sure he wouldn't mind adding sex to their relationship; she just doubts he'd have any interest making that romantic.

Her restraint lasts until Friday, when her Painting class has critiques on their finals. Clarke is always nervous for critiques, but this one makes her palms sweat and her heart leap into her throat. This one is personal. She doesn't just _like_ her own work, she'd put all her pent up, complicated feelings toward Bellamy into it.

Not everyone loves it, but the general consensus of the class is positive, and that's enough to stop Clarke's hands from sweating. Besides, the opinion of her classmates, while interesting, isn't what she's looking for. Her professor is quiet for the first part of her critique, letting the class take the lead, pointing out their favorite elements and suggesting possible changes here and there. Professor Sears is a serious man, and isn't known for giving particularly wordy advice, but when he does speak, he's listened to.

“This,” he says finally, nodding at her work, “is the kind of emotion I've been trying to pull from you all semester, Clarke. And this man,” he gestures at Bellamy, “if he's the cause of it, then that's what a true muse looks like.”

Clarke knows what he's telling her- paint with the emotions she gets from Bellamy, whether or not he's the subject. The project even earns Clarke a rare smile, and she floats through the rest of her finals that day, proud of herself.

It's with this buoyancy in her chest that she returns home that night to find Bellamy on the sofa watching a history documentary. Something about the familiarity of it, Bellamy's half pleased half critical expression and the mess he's made running his hand through his hair combines with the light joyful feeling in her chest and she just wants to kiss him. She might agonize and overthink everything on a frequent basis, but once Clarke Griffin makes her mind up about something, she has a tendency to barrel in, before she has a chance to second guess herself.

This is the trait that has her striding across the living room and climbing into his lap, straddling him.

Bellamy blinks at her, stunned. “Um?”

Clarke kisses him before he can say anything else. She can feel Bellamy's heart rate pick up under the hand she has on his chest and he leans into the kiss a little, before backing up suddenly.

“Wait, what exactly is going on here?” He asks, pupils blown and a flush in his cheeks and Clarke's not sure she can call this thing she feels for him a crush or pining or anything other than what it really is, and that's terrifying, because even if he liked her a fraction of the amount she likes him, Bellamy doesn't do relationships.

“I figured we could both use some post finals celebration,” Clarke says, and she knows her voice comes out a little too raw and shaky, but it's the first thing that pops into her head. And now that she's here, she's a little bit terrified. Admitting she wants to have sex with him isn't hard, admitting she wants something more feels impossible

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? So this is...”

Clarke leans back in and kisses him again, sinking her teeth into his lower lip, satisfied when his hands tighten on her hips. She knows she has to say something, even as he's slipping his tongue past her lips, because she hasn't explained really at _all_ , she's just not sure what that should be.

“I was thinking friends with benefits,” is what comes out when they break for air and Clarke hates herself for saying it immediately, because it's not really _true_. She already feels way more for Bellamy than a friend, but it's out there, hanging in the air. She can hardly revise it right _now_.

Bellamy's nose is pressed against the underside of her jaw, his lips brushes her neck, so she can't see his face when he says, “Sounds good to me.” She wonders if she imagined his hesitation, because he doesn't seem hesitant when he slides a hand up the back of her shirt. So it's not exactly what Clarke intended to end up doing when she got the courage up to confront him, but his mouth is on her neck and she's not complaining.

 

Friends with Benefits with Bellamy turns out to be... Well, considering that Clarke's living with him, and eating meals with him, and sleeping in his bed, and spending her free time with him, it's actually a lot like she imagines dating Bellamy would be. Which makes the fact that they _aren't_ dating each other a lot easier to ignore. Why should she say anything? Things are great the way they are. And until her mom's party is over and she can think up a good reason she and Bellamy have called off their engagement (Abby will be so thrilled she probably won't even care if it's a flimsy reason), there's no reason anything will change.

She's aware she's avoiding the deeper issue; it's something Clarke excels at. And the sex is great, so upsetting the balance they've found just doesn't seem worth it. This is fine. She's fine. Clarke gets to cuddle with him on the sofa and kiss him just because she feels like it and wake up tangled up with him without feeling guilty about it. It's _fine_.

Clarke's so focused on the shift in her relationship with Bellamy, she almost forgets their lunch with her mother on Monday. The weekend had been spent mostly in Bellamy's bed, and it feels odd to emerge into the real world, where she finds things pretty much the way she left them. It seems like something else should have shifted too.

It's not until a few hours before they're to meet her mom that she realizes Bellamy is nervous. He's been quiet all morning, but she'd just thought he was tired from their late night the night before. But she catches him staring into his closet blankly, frowning.

“Bell?”

“I have nothing to wear.”

“Don't be ridiculous, you have plenty.” Clarke nudges past him to pick out an outfit. It's the least she can do, really, with all he's done for her.

And even after he's dressed, he fidgets, tugging at his sleeves and glancing at himself in the mirror. She wouldn't consider Bellamy Blake a vain person. She thinks he _knows_ he's attractive, but he doesn't spend much, if any, time trying to enhance that. His clothes tend to be practical, more than anything else.

“You look great, stop worrying.”

“Your mom hates me, Clarke.” They're pulling on winter coats, preparing to head out into the snow. Bellamy likes the cold, but Clarke isn't so fond of it.

“She doesn't hate you. She doesn't even know you. And besides, who cares what she thinks? It's not as if we're actually engaged.”

Bellamy's frown only deepens. They step out into the sharp, frigid air and Clarke links her arm with Bellamy's, trying to absorb some of his warmth.

 

When her mother had said, _I think we should all have lunch_ , Clarke doesn't know why she'd assumed that had meant her mother and her and Bellamy, not- her mother, her, Marcus Kane, and Bellamy. _All_. In hindsight, it's rather obvious. But it still takes her by surprise. Clarke's known Kane since she was fourteen, but she's never seen him outside of a formal/business setting. It's disconcerting, to see her mother nestled against the side of a man who is not Clarke's father.

It's also disconcerting for him to reach out and shake Bellamy's hand and say, “Nice to meet you, I'm Marcus.” _Marcus_.

And it's... surprisingly okay. Sure, her mom watches Bellamy like a hawk, and asks him questions that border on prying, but Kane seems genuinely interested in Bellamy's thesis, and her mother doesn't make a single comment about money or Clarke dropping out of pre-med or pursuing drawing instead. In fact, it's probably one of the most pleasant meals she's had with her mother in years. Like Bellamy and Kane temper their urge to poke and prod and snap at each other.

“So,” Abby says, “how did you two end up together? Clarke, you haven't said.” There's a watchful look in her mother's eye that makes her think she may still not really believe the charade.

Clarke shrugs, “I mean, we've been friends for years. It just kind of... happened? I don't think either of us were expecting it.”

Bellamy laughs, the absolute picture of relaxed. It's a shocking contrast to how nervous he'd been only hours before. He's good at this, at charming people, when he puts his mind to it.

“That's Clarke's side,” he teases. “She was completely oblivious to me trying to flirt with her for ages.”

“I was not!” Clarke protests, elbowing him. “You were _not_ flirting with me for ages!”

Bellamy laughs again. “How would you even know?”

“It was a fast engagement though, wasn't it?” Abby prompts, and they can't really argue with that. Based on the timeline they'd constructed, it would have to be.

“Six months,” Bellamy says, easy. “But only because it took me a year to get her to notice I was interested.”

Clarke's chest hurts a little bit, aches, because it just feels so genuine. It's fucking with her head. It's fucking with her heart. And it's all her own damn fault. This was a terrible idea. She should have just called her mother back that first day and owned up to her lie. She should have just agreed to go to her mother's party with Callie's daughter. It wouldn't have been that bad.

This is painful. This is making her stupid crush on Bellamy Blake a thousand times worse. This _has_ to be karma, the world getting her back for being so stubborn and dishonest. Bellamy's hand on her back jolts her back into the conversation, where Abby is now talking about the plans for the upcoming party.

“We'd love it if you could arrive a little early to help direct the other guests. It's really gotten much larger than we had anticipated. Obviously the engagement isn't a secret, but this will be the first official announcement. Marcus wanted to put it in the paper, but I thought this would be more personal. Of course, it's been more work than I was expecting.”

“I'm sure it'll be great, Mom,” Clarke says by default, trying not to think about how Bellamy hasn't moved his hand from her back. They've spent the whole weekend in bed together, and yet his hand, warm through the fabric of her dress, feels so intimate. It's a public gesture, nothing to hide.

Kane turns the conversation to Bellamy's upcoming PHD program, and Clarke tries to push her completely unwanted, and yet currently very appropriate feelings for Bellamy to the back of her mind.

 

Her mother pulls her to the side after dinner, and this, Clarke thinks, is the part where the day goes to shit. She knew it was too good to be true. After all, her mother has not hidden her distaste for Bellamy in past. She's just glad this is happening privately, and not in front of Bellamy, who for some reason had genuinely wanted to make a good impression.

Except what comes out of Abby's mouth is, “I just wanted to say I was wrong to judge Bellamy so quickly before. He seems good for you, Clarke.”

“I- What?” It's honestly the last thing she expected to happen. It's an actuality she never planned for. This has got to be a dream and she's going to wake up any second now. Never, not once in her life, has Abby actually _liked_ anyone Clarke has dated. Except she isn't actually dating Bellamy, is she? But she'd like to be.

Her mother squeezes her arm gently. “I'm glad you're happy.”

“You too,” Clarke manages, her head spinning.

They meet up with the men just outside, and Bellamy must see something in Clarke's expression because he raises his eyebrows at her. She ignores him until they've said their goodbyes to her mother and Kane and taken off down the sidewalk.

“What happened with your mom?”

“She _likes_ you,” Clarke says in disbelief.

“I'm very likable,” Bellamy teases, but she can see the relief behind his eyes. He did really care how this turned out.

“She just told me she thinks you're _good_ for me,” Clarke continues, “Oh _God_ , you're gonna be that son in law that my mom likes better than her own child.”

Bellamy laughs and slings an arm around her shoulders, guiding them back toward the apartment. “Don't worry, that would be dependent on us actually getting married. I'm sure she'll go back to hating me after we 'break up'.”

Clarke manages to smile back at him, but her heart is sinking. She'd been talking like she was actually going to marry Bellamy and she hadn't even thought about it. She's in way too deep.

 

When they have sex that night it feels different to Clarke, like the emotional floodgates have been thrown open and it's not just sex anymore. It's never really been just sex for her, and it kills her that she has no idea if it's all just sex for him. She doesn't know how to ask. Feelings hadn't been a part of the deal. She's asked so much of him, it doesn't feel fair to bring this into the equation too.

“There's something going on up there,” Bellamy says, nudging the side of her forehead with his nose. He's stretched out on his stomach on the bed next to her, showing off miles of gorgeous, freckled, brown skin.

“I just can't believe lunch with my mom went _well_ ,” Clarke lies. It's not _really_ a lie. She can't believe it. It's just not what she had been thinking about.

“She loves you, Clarke. She just doesn't really get you, and she worries.”

“You got all that from one lunch?”

Bellamy shrugs. “You do make it easy to worry.”

“What do you mean?” Clarke sits up, the sheets falling to her waist and she smugly notes that Bellamy's eyes drop briefly to her breasts before answering.

“Well, until you moved in here, you were living off frozen microwave meals, and you never get enough sleep, and you push yourself really hard.”

Clarke huffs, but feels herself relaxing, lying back down and curling into him. He's not wrong. She's never been the best at taking care of herself. “Well _you_ leave your door unlocked all the time.”

* * *

 

 

Clarke actually does a pretty good job ignoring her feelings for Bellamy over the next week. She accomplishes this by simply refusing to think past the day she's living, no thoughts of the future, or what she might want. She's here, now, and that's good enough.

This illusion shatters when Raven walks in on them having sex on Bellamy's sofa. It's honestly surprising something like this hadn't happened earlier. Their friends have never had much of a problem popping in and out of Bellamy's apartment as much as they like. But the end of the semester had been busy, and everyone had been too caught up in their finals to show up unannounced. Clarke supposes they should just be thankful it wasn't Octavia.

“Shit, don't you have a bedroom, Blake?” Raven calls out, turning her back on them.

“This is _my_ apartment,” Bellamy protests, reaching for his shirt to hand Clarke. She tugs it on quickly, while Bellamy's sliding back into his jeans.

Raven taps her foot impatiently. “You weren't answering your phone,” she says to the back wall.

“You can look now.”

Raven turns around, and even though her tone had been irritated, her eyes are bright, curious.

“Octavia's flight out to Lincoln's got delayed, so we're all going to go out tonight, send her off in style,” Raven says in one breath. “Now what's going on _here?_ ”

“That's none of your business,” Bellamy snaps. In a matter of seconds he has closed up, turned standoffish in a way Clarke's nearly forgotten he gets. He's been so soft lately.

“Clarke's wearing an engagement ring.”

 _Shit_. Of course Raven would notice that. Clarke had gotten used to the weight of the ring on her finger. Abby's party is in three days, and after that, it'll go back in the box, back in Bellamy's sock drawer.

“Bellamy's pretending to be my fiancé because I told my mom I was engaged,” Clarke says quickly, injecting herself into the conversation for the first time.

“Oh that's what this is?” Raven says, “Funny. I didn't see Abby Griffin in here.”

“Leave it alone, Raven.” Bellamy sounds oddly weary. “It's no big deal.”

“You're both idiots, seriously. Just don't forget to show up to the party.” Raven stomps out of the room and Clarke, darts after her, panic in her chest.

“Raven!” She catches up to her at the front door.

“Yeah?” There's something aloof and a little unfriendly about Raven's tone, but Clarke doesn't have the time to unpack why that is.

“Listen, don't tell any of the others about this, please? It's not my best moment, lying to my mom about being engaged, you know?”

Raven leans back against the door, arms crossed over her chest. “ _That's_ the part you think is a problem?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You shouldn't be fucking around with Bellamy, Clarke.” Raven's voice is hard. “It's not fair to him.”

“Like he said, it's no big deal, okay?”

Raven's eyebrows shoot up. “You bought that? Seriously?”

“It's not.”

“That ring, is it his mother's?” The sudden change in subject stuns Clarke.

“How did you know?”

“Because Gina found it once,” Raven tells her. She and Gina are still friends, had gotten pretty close while Bellamy and Gina were dating. Even though she doesn't usually come to any of the group outings anymore, Gina's on good terms with everyone, and Clarke knows she hangs out with Raven sometimes.

“Okay...” Clarke doesn't see where this is going.

“She found it and asked Bellamy about it and he kind of freaked out. She said it was like he didn't even want her touching it. That was the beginning of the end of their relationship, when she started to realize that Bellamy cared about her, but he didn't... She didn't think he'd ever want to marry her.” Raven pauses and gives Clarke a pointed look. “But you're wearing that ring. He didn't hesitate to put it on your finger, did he?”

Clarke swallows hard, heart pounding and brain screaming. “It's not the same thing. We're not together.”

“Does he know that?”

“Of course he knows that! What the fuck is your problem, Raven?”

Raven tips herself forward, off the door. “My problem is that we all know Bellamy's been into you for ages, and he might be an asshole, but he doesn't deserve to get strung along, either.”

“That's not what's happening! Fuck, if I thought he actually wanted to be in a relationship I'd-” Clarke cuts herself off, too much, it's too much. Raven doesn't know what she's talking about. Clarke knows Bellamy better than any of them, except Octavia, now. He hasn't shown any interest in taking their relationship to a different level.

Raven has stepped back now, hand on the doorknob. “Then you should get your head out of your ass and tell him, save you both a lot of time and pain. I'll see you tonight.”  
And then she's gone.

 

It's definitely different, now that someone else has been exposed to their situation. Awkward is the word Clarke would use. All the gentle ease with which they'd been coexisting seems to evaporate, and they spend a lot of time just _not talking about it_. It shouldn't be uncomfortable. Obviously Bellamy pretending to be Clarke's fiancé is _weird_ , but it shouldn't be uncomfortable. But Clarke's got Raven's words bouncing around her head, alternately hopeful she's right and convinced she's wrong. It's not like Clarke doesn't _want_ Bellamy to be secretly pining for her, she just can't believe it. Bellamy is very forward with his emotions, it's hard to imagine she wouldn't have figured that out by now.

The strain in the air between them is almost enough to send Clarke running back to her apartment, but the party with her mother is only two days away, and after that, this is all over. Clarke hates thinking about that, that it's all coming to an end. She'll give Bellamy the ring back and she move home and they'll probably stop even hooking up because it's won't even be convenient anymore. He can go back to his one night stands and Clarke will go back to her disastrous relationships separated by the periodic hookup. Even thinking about it sounds awful.

The evening of her mother's engagement party is cold, snow on the ground, frost icing the tree branches and the window panes. As promised, she and Bellamy arrive early, and are immediately directed into various tasks by her mother, who looks both stunning in a dark blue dress and a fancy up do, and stressed. Clarke oversees the place settings, as instructed, as if she has any idea what they're supposed to look like and she catches a glimpse of Bellamy out of the corner of her eye, moving chairs around the lobby.

Despite Abby's concerns, the party goes off without a hitch. The guests are on time, the food is good, the music isn't too loud, and while it's much fancier and stuffier than anything Clarke would ever want thrown for herself, it's exactly what her mother wanted. It's so busy, in fact, that Clarke hardly sees Bellamy, who seems to be something of a hit with the rich older women who have attended.

“Arlene McKinney is going to be so disappointed to find out he's off the market,” Abby whispers in her ear, eyes following Clarke's gaze.

“She doesn't look above trying to steal him,” Clarke whispers back.

“Oh, she's not.”

Just then, there's the tinkling of glasses and Clarke looks up to see Callie, Abby's best friend, standing up on the stage in front of the musicians, smiling.

“Good evening, everyone,” she greets. “Abby didn't ask me to do this, but I wanted to say a few words. And as her best friend, I think it's my duty to inform you all that this beautiful wedding that we'll all be very excited to attend next year was basically a one in a million chance. I've known both Abby and Marcus for a long time, and I can say with confidence, that they honest to god hated each other when they first met. And even after they stopped hating each other they still argued _all the time_. About everything. So if you'd asked me a couple of years ago if I thought there was any chance Abby and Marcus would end up together, I would have told you when hell freezes over.

“But that's the funny thing about love, isn't it? It just creeps up on you. And it turned out, that even though they often didn't see eye to eye, at the end of the day they both started to find the common ground. They both came to care more about each other than about winning every argument. The two of them, together, they got to know each other's softer sides. I still don't know how that happened. But love's unpredictable and inexplicable and those two have it in spades.

“Congratulations! I can't wait to see where this crazy journey takes you two.” Callie's speech is greeted by applause and laughter and Abby muttering under her breath next to Clarke, _“We really weren't that bad.”_

But all Clarke can think about is the word love, unpredictable and inexplicable and slow. And this time she can't shove the thought back into the corner of her brain where she's been hiding it. She's so fucking in love with Bellamy. And it's about to be over.

The rest of the party is a blur, one that Clarke floats through and says her designated lines and won't remember in a few hours. When it's finally, finally, winding down, Bellamy appears at her elbow and asks if she's ready to go home. She was ready hours ago.

When they get home, it's long past dark and the apartment is lit only by the glow of a single lamp in the living room. Bellamy puts his hands on her hips and his lips on her neck and for a moment she means to tell him, but the words get stuck in her throat and instead she lets him guide her back to his bedroom without saying anything at all.

After, they lie in the dark, listening to each other's breath. It feels heavy with the end and Clarke wants so badly to say something, to break the tension, to keep everything from being over, but she's terrified, too scared to speak.

“You want some coffee?” Bellamy asks her, and he sounds so normal, so okay. She doesn't understand how Raven could think he was in love with her.

“Sure,” she says automatically, and he rolls out of bed, pulling on his sweatpants.

She stays in the dark, desperately searching for the courage to just _talk to him_. She's leaving tomorrow. It's not like it can get any more over than that.

“Clarke?” Bellamy's voice from the hallway sounds breathless, surprised, and she goes to him, concerned.

He's standing by the hall closet, holding her final project, her painting of him, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. How had he even found it? She'd hid it behind the extra trash bags and the... coffee filters.

“What's this?” he asks, his voice hoarse and surely he can see the raw emotion in the lines, the longing and happiness and, now that she can admit it, love.

“My painting final.”

“It's... It's really good.” He looks up at her, confused, questioning.

“My professor really loved it,” she tells him, and then, “they do say the best muses are the ones you're in love with.”

It takes a breathless moment to sink in. Bellamy blinks at her. “You're-?”

She can't look at him. She can't tell how he feels about it, and the heat is creeping into her cheeks, making her wish she could just melt into the floor.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I should have told you sooner, I just... didn't know how. You don't have to say anything okay? It's not, I don't expect anything from you or anything.” She's rambling, she knows, but she can't seem to stop.

A hand on her elbow stops her. Bellamy's standing so close, too close, she didn't even notice him set the painting down.

“Seriously?” he asks.

Clarke nods. She can't say it again.

He kisses her, a kiss she was not expecting, gentle and soft and barely there. “I cannot believe this. Literally everyone knows I've been head over heels for you for months, Clarke.”

“ _What?_ ”

“No, seriously, everyone knows.” He's smiling against her cheek, and Clarke pushes him back to get a good look at him.

“Why the fuck didn't you _say_ anything? I've been living here, sleeping with you, you could have just-”

“-Me? You're the one who wanted to label it 'friends with benefits'!” Bellamy interrupts, exasperated.

“Yeah, because you don't date anyone! And a little bit of you was better than nothing!”  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Clarke.” But it's fond. He reels her back in, rests his forehead against hers. “I didn't think it was fair to start dating anyone while I was hung up on you, that's all.”

Clarke kisses him again, feverish and happy and stunned and disbelieving. “You should have said something.”

“ _You_ should have said something,” he retorts. But she doesn't care, she doesn't _care_ , because she's in love with Bellamy Blake, and he loves her back.

* * *

 

 

When Clarke wakes up in the morning, it's with her head on Bellamy's chest and his fingers gently working through her hair. She basks in it, in the morning sunlight and the knowledge that this thing between them isn't over, it's just beginning.

“Morning,” he says gruffly, when he realizes she's awake.

Clarke blinks her eyes open and tilts her head to smile at him. “Morning.”

When she turns her head, the light catches and sparks off the engagement ring, glittering on her finger. She shifts so she can slide it off, hand it back to him. That charade _is_ over, and she wants to start this all honestly. Bellamy takes it from her, slow, and sets it carefully on his nightstand.

He doesn't say anything, just reaches for her hand. Gently, he brings her fingers to his lips, presses a kiss where the ring has left a red mark on her skin. And Clarke doesn't think she's misreading the unspoken word in the gesture, a hopeful dream, a _someday_.

 

 

 


End file.
